Roll Away Your Stone
by RebellingStagnation
Summary: A Negaduck one-shot that takes place in the 10 months Negaduck spent away from Gosalyn at the end of "Let's Get D-D-D-Dangerous." Rated T for language and references to violence.


**A/N: Amelia asked what Negaduck's 10 months separated from Gosalyn in "Let's Get D-D-D-Dangerous" looked like. This one-shot takes place between chapter 16 (Say Something [I'm Giving Up On You]) and 17 (EPILOGUE: See The World).**

 **Amelia, I hope this sates your curiosity and gives you some good Negaduck insight! Thanks for always reviewing and sending your Darkwing love :)**

 **Being a Negaduck story, there is some strong language and references to violence in this.**

* * *

 _Last time in "D-D-D-Dangerous":_

 _Gosalyn smiled. "I'll be at Stones, if you'd want to contact me."_

 _"Why would I want to contact you?" Negaduck asked. He walked back to his rope and grappling hook. Tossing it across to the other building, the hook grabbed onto something immediately. He fisted the rope to swing across. "See ya around, kid."_

 _"Wait!" Gosalyn said, running towards him. He looked back, his expression wary. "Where will you be? You know, in case I'd need to find you."_

 _He rolled his eyes._

 _Gosalyn stepped forward, dragging this non-goodbye out as long as she could. "At least tell me where the Negaverse is."_

 _Negaduck grinned knowingly. "You'll figure it out." And he swung away._

* * *

 _Don't leave me alone at this time_

 _For I'm afraid of what I will discover inside_

His world was so much quieter than hers.

Well, _right now_ it was quieter. He was sure it had something to do with sirens. St. Canard Prime was full of squealing police cars, screaming fire engines, and whining ambulances. The Negaverse had none of that. Emergency was a constant state, not a ward in a hospital.

Kicking down his front door just to make some goddamned noise, Negaduck rushed in, blinking through the dust clouds and cradling his rifle in the crook of his shoulder. Slinking from room to room, Negaduck readied himself for any intruder. His eyes darted into every crevice and dark corner, his ears straining for any sound in the sweltering silence. He didn't really believe anyone had the balls to try and get the drop on him, but old habits couldn't be killed off.

Or something like that.

It was only after his full search of his too-big house was over that he removed his finger from the trigger and dropped the rifle from his shoulder.

Empty.

As he expected.

But the pink always put him on edge.

He always ended his search in _her_ room.

Because life was a bitch. And it liked throwing irony in his face.

Setting his rifle down in the hall — weapons weren't allowed in her room, though where _that_ rule came from, he didn't know — he stepped across the threshold. Meandering through the rosy shades, he glanced for a place to sit, the weight of his day pulling him _down down down_ ….

But there wasn't anywhere to take the burden off his feet. The bubblegum pink canopy bed had been shredded within an inch of its life. The salmon rugs held so much dust they were grey. The cherry nightstand and matching dresser were missing legs and collapsing at odd angles, their drawers long since ripped out and overturned, innards spilled and torn in heaps around the room.

He couldn't sit down in here. He didn't _belong_ here.

Staggering back to the door, Negaduck scooped up his rifle as he stumbled down the hall to his own room.

It wasn't any better than hers mess-wise. Weapons littered his floor in various stages of disassembly. Scarlet, ebony, and lemon yellow covered the chrome of the weaponry that lay scattered across the space, the soft fabrics a juxtaposition to the hard metals. In the middle of the chaos stood a four-poster that had long ago splintered from his violence against it, the mattress sunk to the floor and sagging from mistreatment.

 _This_ was home.

Dropping the rifle amongst its brothers, Negaduck careened toward his bed, tripping only twice before flinging himself down, breathing a sigh of relief as he sunk into the musty mattress, everything that happened in his day falling around him. He tossed his fedora away and peeled off his mask, the midnight fabric pooling beside him as he rubbed his eyes, eager to forget the oh-so-pink room he'd just abandoned (he had _not_ run from it; he _hadn't_ ) and the girl he'd left behind.

Not _that_ girl. Not the one who belonged to that incessant pink room.

Her double. Gosalyn. Standing on the rooftop back in her own universe.

He scrubbed the look of her — St. Canard outlining her green and purple hero costume, the city's lights softening the features on her face — from his mind.

Or, he tried to.

He tried to wipe how her fiery locks stirred in the breeze. Tried to delete the softness of her voice. To obliterate the way her emerald irises searched him with that _knowing_ expression in their depths. To kill—

And _that_ stopped him cold, fingers digging painfully into his eye sockets. Growling at his own weakness, he sprung from his bed, stalking over to the gun safe in his closet. The thing was buried under his tool box and gun cleaning kits. He couldn't even think of killing and Gosalyn in the same sentence. Which set his teeth on edge, sirens blaring in his mind. _Danger danger danger_ ….

He was Negaduck. He killed for sport. If he hesitated over a _sentence_ , even for a _second_ ….

Unlocking the safe, he pulled his new M60 machine gun from the confines, unable to withhold his grin as the weight of it settled in his arms.

This.

This made sense.

He was comfortable here.

Knew what he was.

Was even tempted to admit he knew _who_ he was.

And while that seemed a simple thing — to know who you were — it led to dangerous places. Who you were depended on who you were with. Depended on what you thought of yourself. What they thought of you.

And no thank you.

He didn't want to consider _who_ he was.

Only what he was.

Wandering back to his bed, he set the weapon down only to replace his mask, to shove his hat back on his head. Picking up the M60 once more, he scurried back downstairs and out the door.

He was the Lord of the Negaverse and he was damn well gonna prove it tonight.

* * *

 _Cause you told me that I would find a hole_

 _Within the fragile substance of my soul_

 _And I have filled this void with things unreal_

 _And all the while my character it steals_

It was after he'd blown up the concert hall downtown that he really started to get pissed off.

Seriously, he'd only known her for a few weeks. It shouldn't take him this long to forget her.

Okay, if he was being honest, he'd _technically_ known her for years. He'd fought against her since she was a kid. In many ways, she still was a kid. But she'd been more of a kid back then. Like, a nine year old kid.

Where the hell did _that_ come from? How did he know how old she'd been when they'd first run into one another? He didn't remember details about _people_. Weapons, sure. Methods of destruction, that was a given. He was even okay with knowing how many times he'd terrorized someone.

But to know she'd been _nine years old_ when they first met…. To know they'd spent _seven days_ together in Duckburg…. To know it had been _two months_ since he'd last seen her….

Snarling at the night, Negaduck leapt onto his motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. Kicking off, he sped away from the burning concert hall, not able to watch the slow destruction of his flames as it devoured the deserted domed structure.

Racing down the quiet streets, he couldn't even think back to the meticulous dance he'd performed on the stage, sprinkling kerosene on the dusty space, planting his explosives with careful precision so he could enjoy the hall exploding again and again and again as the flames found more and more hidden dynamite.

Because it wasn't bringing him the satisfaction it usually did.

And if he couldn't feel pleased or at ease watching the wanton destruction of something that was once so beloved, then what was left?

Just the knowledge that he'd been away from Gosalyn for 62 days.

Revving his bike, Negaduck drove and drove and drove through his decrepit and decaying city until he couldn't remember why he was racing around. Until the chilled autumn air had woven through his feathers and made his fingers and face numb. Until the frigid air had sunk down into his bones and he couldn't think of anything else.

* * *

 _But darkness is a harsh term don't you think_

 _And yet it dominates the things I see_

It was a needlessly cheery time of year, even here in his land of abandoned carnage.

Somehow, despite his best efforts, stupid string lights wound up around crumbling balconies and in shattered windows. Full, healthy pine trees migrated from outside the city's limits and into buildings, ornaments and _more_ lights hanging from the boughs. Radio stations that had been damaged during the year were miraculously fixed, playing the smooth tones of Nat King Cole. Red, green, and gold decorations were hung throughout the downtown area, offsetting the gently falling snow. Power plants came back online for a few weeks, the air filled with the warmth of cinnamon and gingerbread as bakeries were opened for a few precious hours a day.

In years past, Negaduck had hunted down any sign of the merry holiday and ignited it in flames. Radio stations that had played music became news broadcasts of his activity. The scent of singed pine filled the air, the snow sprinkled with black and grey ashes.

It was a dangerous time of year for everyone who wanted to celebrate family, friends, or togetherness.

But Negaduck, for how strongly he loathed the holiday, always got away with his biggest haul during this time of year. And those simpletons in St. Canard Prime couldn't be bothered to care that he robbed them blind. Like the Who's of Whoville, the citizens of Darkwing's universe could not have their holiday ruined by Grinch Negaduck.

Don't ask how he knew that reference.

But this year, he didn't know why he didn't have the energy to get rid of the celebrations in his universe. Why he wasn't able to go to St. Canard Prime more than once, and only for fifteen minutes at that. He spent the month of giving in his own home, windows boarded up and doors locked tight.

Except at night.

When he bundled up and traipsed the streets alone. Looked at all the lights, the pine trees, the gently falling snow and didn't feel any need to burn it. Inhaled the warm scents and listened to the pirated Perry Como, Bing Crosby, and Burl Ives. If he was honest with himself — and why the _hell_ would he do that? — something in him was drawn to this holiday.

This year.

Not past years.

Halloween had always been his holiday. He ruled it without question. Thanksgiving was laughable and not even a consideration for anyone. But this holiday, the one he had always despised so deeply, was the one his citizens fought so desperately for year after year. He never indulged them; it was a bad thing to give his underlings such a powerful thing as hope.

But this year… Well, Halloween had been particularly vicious. The deathly decorations had been thrown up with abandon. Flames charred the city to a crisp, the colors matching the gruesome skeletons, bats, and pumpkins. Shrieks and yells had echoed down the alleys. The sharp tang of blood had floated on the air.

So, really, his citizens had _earned_ their Christmas. It was only fair, he reasoned, after such a violent Halloween.

And _that_ was the only reason why he didn't rip off their dumb lights. Incinerate their trees. Drown their carols in screams. He had to keep his citizens happy and this sort of bargaining — this give and take with their supreme ruler — was why he left Christmas alone.

 _Not_ because it soothed something within himself. _Not_ because he somehow knew a certain redhead loved this holiday and he couldn't bring himself to destroy anything that had her stamp of approval.

Nope.

Not at all.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he tried to pretend he didn't know the words to the carol that echoed through the homes around him as he wandered back to Avian Way through the newly fallen snow.

* * *

 _It seems that all my bridges have been burned_

 _But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works_

The bar was crowded but clean. He was used to seedy pubs, underground speak-easies. Not that he went to those places for anything other a job. Nothing like a dirty run-down watering hole to bring villains out of the woodwork.

But this one, outside his city's limits, was well-lit, modernly decorated, and full with the buzz of conversation, punctuated by laughs and exclamations as groups recognized friends. Negaduck had no idea places like this existed in his universe. Instead of yearning to burn it to the foundation, he found he was only fascinated.

Everyone pretty much left him to his own devices. It was the first time since high school that he'd wandered out not dressed in his villainous Negaduck costume. He'd been surprised to find _normal_ clothes buried in his closet. But they'd proven useful, so he couldn't get angry at his past self for hanging onto them.

He was inconspicuous in his brown trench coat and faded ball cap. Or, he hoped he was inconspicuous. It was a colder March than usual, so no one gave him a second look when he kept his coat on. The bartender asked what he'd like but Negaduck waved him away, glancing around the place.

It didn't take long to find her.

Even if her hair wasn't red anymore.

Weaving through the crowd, he reached out and grabbed her hand. Murmuring something about needing help, he pulled her through to the back. He'd done his research; she liked to think of herself as someone to help anyone who opposed Negaduck's rule. Like a modern day Robin Hood. To want a private moment with her, to not want to show his face, should be a common enough occurrence for her. At first, the girl tensed up, but she followed him, laughing and assuring her friends that she'd be right back.

Negaduck didn't know where he was going, but he hoped there was a room or a quiet corner or _something_ back here.

He ended up finding bathrooms. There was a line and a few people protested as he and the girl moved up towards the doors. With a snarl, he kept walking to the front of the line, pushing the girl into the recently vacated restroom.

"We shouldn't make them wait," she said, her voice unsure but strong.

Closing the door behind them, Negaduck locked it and brought his mask out of his coat pocket. "They'll be fine," he assured her.

Securing the mask, he turned to face the girl, whose curious expression fell upon seeing him. The color draining from her features, she asked, "How did you find me?"

"You are kidding, right?" he sneered.

"I—" she reached up and touched her brown ringlets. "I'd hoped—"

"A name change and a different hair color don't make you disappear, _Christine_."

Horror filling her gaze, she inhaled sharply and wrung her hands. Negaduck observed her in the silence. How like Gosalyn she looked. And how _unlike_ Gosalyn she acted.

Glancing around the tiled bathroom, at the automatic toilet to the motion activated sink, soap and paper towel dispensers… at _anything_ but at him, Christine's panic overtook her. Gosalyn would have faced him, hands on her hips, and demand to know what he thought he was doing. Probably would have made some pithy comment about his clothing.

But this girl, he was realizing, was definitely _not_ Gosalyn. And disappointment rose up in his throat, choking him.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice shaking as bad as her hands now were.

He didn't know anymore. When he'd ventured all the way out here, dressed in these _clothes_ , he thought he was after her. To see if there was anything there. Between them. To find out where he'd gone wrong.

But now… he didn't want any of that. So, what _did_ he want?

"You left," was what he heard himself say.

"So long ago. _Years_ ago…." She shook her head. And those damn green eyes looked up at him with such _desperation_. There was so much fear there that it ate away at him.

"And…?" he offered, taking a step forward.

She stepped back, her hands coming up in surrender. "It's been years and you only _now_ realized I'd left?"

Negaduck stood ramrod straight, his hands balled into fists as he observed the girl.

Of course he didn't just realize she'd left.

He only now _cared_. Wanted to know why she'd gone. See if there was any future to be had from the shambles of the past.

He opened his beak to say something but was interrupted when someone hammered on the door.

Anger surging, Negaduck ripped the ball cap off his head and tore his trench coat away. Underneath, his Negaduck costume was in place, and he grabbed for his scarlet fedora — which had been carefully tucked down the front of his suit— stuffing it on his head. Flinging out his cape, Negaduck turned, unlocked the door, and wrenched it open.

And whoever the crowd thought they'd face, it wasn't _him_. Shock and terror spread through them like a disease as Negaduck snarled deep in his throat.

Scrambling and screaming, the patrons tripped over one another as they bolted out of the bar.

Negaduck glanced back at Christine. She'd sunk down to a sitting position behind the toilet. The Friendly Losers had really done a number on her; she'd never been this afraid of Negaduck before.

But that's what he got for letting her be raised by heroes.

Withholding another snarl, he turned to face her fully. "You won't see me again," he assured her.

He tried to tell himself that leaving was for her own good. That he was going so the girl wouldn't be confused about her yearn for acceptance from the very mallard she'd been taught to fear. That it wasn't because seeing her looking up at him, those damn green eyes so full of fear and trepidation, stole the very breath from his lungs.

Because it _wasn't_.

She eyed him. "R-really?"  
And if her hopeful tone didn't just _gut_ him.

Like hell he'd show it.

"Yeah," Negaduck shrugged. "I've lost interest." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the bathroom. Away from the too-sweet not-Gosalyn.

He berated himself for coming all this way.

Christine wasn't Gosalyn.

Snarling at his own stupidity, he left the now deserted bar.

* * *

 _It's not the long walk home that will change this heart_

 _But the welcome I receive with the restart_

Negaduck bit back a smile. He'd done that almost smiling thing at least four times since he'd wandered onto Stones's campus. He needed to get control of whatever the _hell_ this was.

"I didn't come here to banter with you," he said, standing from the desk and walking over to the bed.

She scoffed. "No, you came to criticize my art essay."

Oh, he'd _missed_ this. Why had he stayed away for so long? "Don't argue," he said. "I need to send this Tuskernini guy packing."

Gosalyn eyed him, green eyes studying him carefully. "You really want my help?"

"Yes," he answered before he could stop himself.

But it was true.

He didn't just want her help.

It was simpler than that.

He wanted _her_.

Her question, not filled with the venom he'd earned or any mistrust that he deserved, was open. Honest. True. She just wanted to know. That was the beauty of Gosalyn, asking questions for curiosity's sake. No malice, no ulterior motives.

He didn't just want this girl. He _needed_ her.

Setting his hands on her bed, he leaned toward her. "That, or I did come just to criticize your art essay."

"Why do one when you can do both?" she fired back.

Biting back another damn smile, Negaduck asked, "Want to help me save the Negaverse from falling into a poorly directed B-rated Hollywood horror film?"

Gosalyn observed him, those green eyes, he was sure, seeing more than he realized he was letting on.

He wasn't nervous.

He _wasn't_.

But this wasn't about Tuskerninni. Which Gosalyn probably knew. Sure, the walrus had given Negaduck the perfect opening to return to St. Canard Prime — to return to her — but Negaduck could take him with both hands tied behind his back. One chance encounter, where the eccentric film maker had squealed at Negaduck, wondering if the villain had a bigger bazooka, had sent Negaduck hurtling towards Stones College so fast his head spun. Under the guise of needing help. Which he didn't need.

But Negaduck did need Gosalyn. The past ten months of trying to forget had only served to prove just how far she'd burrowed into his life. Maybe even into his heart. If it was still there.

And if this sickening emotional confession — in his own mind — wasn't enough proof, then nothing would convince him that maybe he wasn't better off alone.

Just like the sun cutting through a storm, Gosalyn's smile broke through his rambling inner monologue. Throwing off the sheets still entangled around her, Gosalyn said, "I wouldn't miss it for the world." And he smiled then because how could he not?

Tossing her the bag he'd already packed in the hopes that she would say yes — and she had — he darted out of the room. A small part of him called out to wait for Gosalyn, but he kept his pace, barreling down the stairs to the main level of the dorms. Bursting out to the parking lot and jumping on his bike, Negaduck revved the engine, knowing that Gosalyn was not far behind him.

 _Stars hide your fires_

 _These here are my desires_

 _And I won't give them up to you this time around_

 _And so I'll be found_

 _With my stake stuck in this ground_

 _Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul_

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**

 **If anyone wants to suggest more one-shots, let me know. Send me a PM, review with your suggestion, or visit my Tumblr (RebellingStagnationBlog).**

 **~RS**


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